“What is the purpose of this conversation?” Lyr asked impatiently.
Segyn was silent for a long moment. “The day will come, as it comes for all, but I do not wish to see you burned at this time, boy.” Again, his tone was that of friend and mentor, not subservient. He nodded toward a sleeping Rayne. “That woman could singe the hair off your very head. I am glad to hear that you are not so foolish as to think that the two of you might—”
“No, I am not so foolish.”
“If you think of changing your mind in that area, speak to me and I will tell you all the ugly details of what happened with me and my kitchen maid when I was not much older than you.”
“Did she singe the very hair off your head?” Lyr asked, and he smiled when Segyn responded by rubbing a hand on his bald scalp.
“That she did, boy. That she did.”
***
The terrain was so different from her mountain home that Rayne was fascinated. To the north were distant mountains, white grassy plains spread far and wide. To the south the landscape was entirely flat, and in the distance she saw what appeared to be low-lying water and stark, tall trees.
Swampland. She had read about it but had never thought to see the swamp firsthand. As far as she was concerned, the narrow, infrequently traveled road brought her close enough to the swamp for study. In the books she’d read, there had been many disturbing details about snakes and large ratlike creatures and a reptile called croc which was capable of snapping off a man’s head with its sharp teeth. The drawing in the book had shown a large mouth opened wide, and there were rows upon rows of teeth.
She did not wish to see a croc. That one drawing would suffice.
Tiller rode close by, taking an interest in her even though she had given up on her cursing lessons. If it was necessary that she tarnish her soul, she’d have to find another way. If the curse didn’t come from the heart, would it affect her soul at all? She thought not. She thought that perhaps whatever sin was practiced had to be embraced for it to touch the soul. Whether for good or for ill, whether an act of kindness or a transgression, one’s actions had to come from the heart.
As they often did, her eyes wandered to the man who led their party. Lyr had barely looked her way in the past two days. Was he angry with her? Bored? Annoyed? At times he seemed to be all three at once.
“He’s to marry a princess, you know.”
Tiller’s words took her by surprise. Rayne’s head snapped around to face her escort. “I beg your pardon?”
“The Prince of Swords, Lord Lyr, he is to marry one of the king’s daughters. Sylia, most likely, though some say Princess Erinda is the most beautiful and they would make the better match.”
Rayne wished she did not blush so easily. A heat rose to her cheeks, but she ignored the telling sign and kept her voice distant, as if she were not at all interested in the subject. “How very nice for him.”
“Nice indeed,” Tiller said. “To have one’s choice of princesses would be an honor for any man.”
Rayne’s lips pursed. She had never given any real consideration to a future with Lyr, but she had admired him, and to have any and all possibility of more snatched away was annoying. Even though he was only the object of a fantasy, she did not want thoughts of a future wife intruding on that fantasy.
“He has a choice, you say. Do the princesses themselves have no say in the matter?”
“Of course not,” Tiller said, as if such an idea were unthinkable. “That is just as well, I suppose.”
“Why?” She could not help the word that sprung from her mouth. What woman would not want a man like Lyr Hern as her husband?
Tiller looked away for a long moment before he turned to her again. “His family is rather... odd.”
“Many men have odd families, I imagine.” None odder than her own, with a wizard father who couldn’t decide if he wanted to guard her from all harm or offer her up to his compatriots like a tasty supper, and a mother who was, perhaps, not all that she’d appeared to be.
“He has Anwyn cousins who shift into wolves at the rise of the full moon. His mother and his sisters are witches, and quite powerful ones at that. I hear one of his aunts is not safe to be around when she is angry—or aroused—as her very state of mind can affect the weather and the crops and the fertility of a woman’s womb. His eldest cousin died and returned from the Land of the Dead,” he said in a lowered voice, as if he were in awe. “Almost all of his cousins possess some sort of magic. Since the king and his daughters have no magical abilities, marrying into such a family might be a bit daunting, don’t you think?”
“I imagine so,” she said softly.
“Your father was a wizard,” Tiller said. “Are you...”
“I am like my mother, without magical abilities. I like it that way, though I imagine there are times when having unnatural powers would be convenient.” In truth, she did not like what magic had done to her father. Would he have been a better man if his desire for power hadn’t led him astray? Would he have been a better father? As she turned her attention to the back of Lyr’s head, she asked, “What is his ability? I haven’t seen him practice any sort of magic, and we’ve been on the road for many days.”
“He does not use his gift often,” Tiller said. “I have seen it only once before. Well, as much as any man can see what he does. He is a sight to behold when he uses his magic.”
“What does he do?” Her father had practiced spells for as long as she could remember, and she had never cared for them. She hadn’t cared for their unnatural way or the very stink that had risen in the air as her father worked.
“He stops time,” Tiller whispered.
Rayne’s head jerked about. “No one can stop time.”
“He does. He stops time for all but himself, and he moves among us while we are stuck and he is not. He might be right before you, and then a blink of the eye later he’s gone. He might be to the right or to the left or gone altogether. It’s quite alarming.”
Rayne recalled the moment in the basement when she’d been so certain she was about to die. Jiri’s sword had been flying toward her throat, and then it had not. Had Lyr used his magic on her, on all of them? Had he saved her life with his gift for stopping time?
Knowing what he could do shouldn’t make him less attractive, but it did. Heaven above, she was tired of the machinations that came with power and the actions men would take to achieve it. She was sick of manipulations and secrets and enchantment. From here on out, she wanted to know what was real and what was not. A simple life, that’s what she wanted... if she was lucky or smart enough to escape the plans Ciro had for her. A simple life, where she would never need to question what was real and what was not. A simple husband who would like her. Who would even perhaps one day love her. Simple children who would not wield magic or be sought and used for their gifts.
Lyr, with his nicely crafted body and eagle eyes and ability to halt time, was not at all simple.
***
She was too old for constant travel, for sleeping on the ground, for wearing the same frock day after day, for eating only what they could carry or catch.
“I have been horribly spoiled in the past few years,” Isadora said as she knelt beside the stream to catch a handful of water and bring it to her face. The splash was refreshing and rejuvenating.
It had been a long time since the Fyne sisters had spent this much time together, and as the days passed Isadora realized how very much she’d missed Sophie and Juliet.
They were all older, but they had not changed so very much. The youngest sister, Sophie, was still unendingly optimistic and sunny, and Juliet was down to earth and intuitive. Isadora herself was the eldest sister, the caretaker of them all, the practical one. No, they had not changed very much at all.
Sophie laughed as she copied Isadora’s actions, bringing a handful of water to her face. “I know what you mean. My ass aches from riding in the saddle, and my feet ache from walking. But what choice do we have?”
“None.”
Refreshed, the sisters sat by the stream, enjoying the beauty of this secluded place and the rest for their bodies. Isadora looked at Sophie and shook her head. Her sister had aged remarkably well, particularly when one considered that she’d given birth to and raised nine children. Three were a handful for Isadora and she could not imagine managing more, but then she’d never had Sophie’s patience.
They were no more than three days from the coastal town where Juliet was quite sure Liane had settled. Their seer sister was also certain that Liane had changed her name and the names of her sons, but those names were not a part of that which she could discern. It was a large port town, so finding Liane could take days, or even weeks, more.
Sophie leaned back on her hands. “I never would’ve imagined that we’d search out Liane for the purpose of putting one of Sebestyen’s sons in the palace. What if they’re both like their father? What if they both claim the throne and we exchange one war for another?”
“From what we have heard of Ciro, Sebestyen himself would be a better emperor.” She snorted in disgust. Perhaps Sebestyen had tried to redeem himself in the end, but he had been a horrid, horrid man and a terrible ruler. “I think you should all move to Tryfyn,” Isadora said. “The king is a good man, and when Lyr marries one of his daughters, we’ll be family and he’ll be glad to welcome you all.”
“I did not know Lyr was betrothed,” Sophie said with excitement. “What is her name? Is she mild tempered or fiery? How old is she? When will the marriage take place?”
Isadora sighed. “He has not chosen which princess he will marry, so I can answer none of those questions.”
Sophie was so silent, lsadora was compelled to turn her head to meet her sister’s stare. The accusation was evident.
“You are speaking of an arranged marriage,” Sophie said in a lowered voice, as if anyone else were close enough to hear.
“Lyr is Prince of Swords,” Isadora said calmly. That should be explanation enough.
“So was Lucan when you met him.”
“That was different!”
“How so?”
Isadora waved a dismissive hand. “Can’t we discuss something more pleasant, like... like war or demons or Sebestyen’s sons?”
“I knew it!” Sophie grinned widely. “You don’t like the idea of an arranged marriage for your children any more than I do.” She nodded her head. “It is best to marry for love and love alone. That’s what I want for my children, and I’m sure that’s what you want for yours. We were lucky enough to marry for love, so we know how important that is.”
“He might come to love one of the princesses.” Isadora turned her gaze to the rushing water. Yes, of course she wanted her children to marry for love, but there were also obligations to consider. “When did I get so staid and unbending?”
“You were born staid and unbending,” Sophie said with a sister’s love. “It suits you.” With that said, she asked brightly, “I wonder which of us will be a grandmother first?”
“Bite your tongue,” Isadora said sharply.
Sophie laughed. “I wouldn’t mind at all being a grandmother, and when the time comes, I’m sure you’ll love it just as you loved being a mother. More so, from all I have heard from women who have grandchildren.”
Fortunately Juliet arrived, and Sophie said no more. Grandmother! Isadora wasn’t certain she was ready for that. Was she so old? Yes, she had a few strands of gray in her hair and the lines at the corners of her eyes had grown more noticeable of late, but... grandmother?
Juliet, who was more hot natured than her sisters thanks to her father’s Anwyn blood, did not splash water onto her face. She walked into the stream. Since her skirt was much shorter than was fashionable or proper, she didn’t have to worry about soaking her clothing. With cool water rushing against her legs to just above her knees, she turned to face her sisters.
“A race, eh? Don’t forget about Keelia.” Her smile was wide, as if she, like Sophie, thought being old was grand and wonderful.
Isadora sighed. So much for letting go of the subject of her age. “The years go by so fast,” she said. “I blink, and my children are grown, or almost grown. No matter how old they get, I still worry about them.” She caught Juliet’s eyes. On occasion her sister had assured her that Lyr was alive and well, though his mission was a difficult one and the outcome was still to be decided. “What of my son?” she asked simply.
Juliet closed her eyes and her face became very peaceful. Beyond peaceful. She took a deep breath and lifted her face to catch the rays of the sun. She did not immediately answer, as she usually did. In an instant, Isadora began to worry. Juliet saw something terrible and did not want to tell. Lyr was hurt, or in danger, or... dead.
“Tell me now,” Isadora insisted.
Juliet’s eyes opened, and she frowned. Not an encouraging sign. “I can’t decipher what I see when I reach for knowledge of Lyr. All I see is a loaf of bread being thrust into a raging fire. Does that mean anything to you? Do you understand the symbolism?”
“No,” Isadora whispered. “But I don’t like it. I don’t like that image at all.”
***
Even though they’d met no resistance since leaving the house where he’d retrieved the crystal dagger, Lyr did not allow himself to relax. If anything, he’d been feeling more anxious of late, more on alert. Maybe it was simply the tension of being in the company of a woman for such a long period of time. Though women came and went on a regular basis, only his mother and sisters were constants in his life.
As the moon was bright and almost full, they rode well into the night. Their mission was an important one, and every step took them closer to the end—whether that end be for good or for darkness. Lyr could not help but think of what failure would mean. His friends, his family, his men—all could and would fall victim to the darkness. His sisters were young and silly and a continual annoyance, but they were his annoyance and he did not wish to see them live in a world where they weren’t safe, or worse, where they might perish at a dark hand.
And Rayne. Ciro’s plans for Rayne were not of her doing; she had no choice in the matter. If she lived and Ciro won, then her fate would be worst of all. If he had to take her life, he’d be doing her a favor.
Not that she was likely to see things in that way if he was forced to hold a knife to her throat.
It helped him to think of the worst. Imagining failure steeled his resolve, and it took his mind off other things, like the manner in which the woman who rode behind him had worked her way under his skin.
Segyn was right. She could burn him, given half a chance.
Not long after darkness fell, Rayne guided her horse forward, bringing it and herself to Lyr’s side. “I have been seeing more homes in the distance, all to the north. Did you come this way on your journey to my home? Is there a large town nearby?”
There was a decent sized village perhaps a day’s ride ahead, and if he had not known too much about Ciro’s plans for Rayne, he would have happily left her there. How would he explain to her that he wouldn’t be leaving her anywhere? He did not lie, but this was one truth he could not share.
“There is a town ahead, where we can buy supplies and perhaps rest for a short while, but I won’t be leaving you there.”
“Why not?”
Lyr took a long deep breath and chose his words carefully. “It is not the best place for you. Trust me in this, Rayne. I promised to see you to a safe place. The town ahead is not such a place.”
She nodded her head agreeably. “All right. I will trust your judgment in this matter. It’s just that I know I’m slowing you and your men down. You must be anxious to join the fight. I know Tiller and Swaine are.”
“We will arrive in the place we are supposed to be when the time is right.”
“That’s very philosophical of you,” she said lightly.
“Man can only control so much of his destiny. That is not philosophy, it’s fact.” Anxio
us to change the subject, he said, “I notice that you’ve given up swearing.”
“Yes, I have. It was not for me. I will find another way if I must.”
If she tarnished her soul so that it was no longer what Ciro needed in order to make that special child, maybe Rayne would be safe. Maybe he would not have to see her in Ciro’s grasp or take her life, and she could have what she wanted—a quiet life in a simple place, where the monster who called her “beloved” would never find her.
He did not think it would be easy to tarnish such a soul. Though he did not see the purity of which she spoke, he knew Rayne was a good person through and through. She had a kind heart and an easy way about her, and she would never knowingly harm a living thing. She was good, in a world where true goodness was sadly rare.
“We will think of a way,” he said in a lowered voice. He nodded at the blue gem which lay against her chest, catching the moonlight. “I see you have taken to wearing the necklace which was stored with the crystal dagger.”
A small hand rose up and touched the stone against the swell of her breast. “Yes. It reminds me of my mother, and I wish to feel closer to her now. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.”
“She was not like your father?”
Rayne shook her head. Many strands of fine dark hair had come loose from her once-staid fashion and fell around her face and down her back. She was mussed, she was wrinkled, there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Still, she was more regal than any princess.
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